


The Adventures of Little Mouse and Murder Boy

by Mikimoo



Category: DCU
Genre: Dick Grayson is a Talon, M/M, References to Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikimoo/pseuds/Mikimoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Court of Owls has sentenced The Red Hood to die. Jason is not very keen on that plan, and surprisingly, nor is his would-be assassin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the-kellephant as part of the Batfam Christmas Exchange. It completely ate my life!
> 
> And thank you to my amazing beta fabularasa not only did she work on this monster under a time constraint, she also really helped me beat out the [many] issues. [And if you like superbats, and the batfam in general – you should check out her latest amazing, painful, fic – it hurts but good.]

The first Talon Jason had tangled with had been good, a challenge, but not so much of one Jason didn’t end up flinging his severed head into the river. _Regenerate that, fucker_.

The second Talon the court sent after him was different. Where the other was built like a tank and moved like a fighter, this one was slim and moved like a predator. And he was good. Better than Jason, which was proving to be a problem. He had not intended to get sliced into ribbons when he had left his apartment earlier that night. In fact he hadn’t intended go out at all – he was midway through a hideous cold, and it was making it difficult to focus. But when he intercepted a distress call for Gotham’s vigilantes to help deal with the plague of Talons that had started attacking the city, he felt honor bound to assist. Although his intense dislike of the Court of Owls may have also given him a boost in the desire to get out there and kick some ass. So he took a couple of mild painkillers and pulled himself out of his sick bed to hit the streets. 

That had probably been a mistake.

Two hours later he was bleeding from a dozen cuts from the Talon's knives and was attempting to beat a dignified retreat. It was not going so well. The freak was playing with him like a cat with a mouse. He wasn’t being subtle about it either, and his creepy laugh was following Jason over every rooftop and through every back alley. 

Jason had made his way to the familiar streets of crime alley and dived into the open doorway of a crack house. He knew this place, spoke to informants here. There was a hidden cache of weapons and medical supplies in the unused attic space and he was hoping to catch his breath and lose his pursuer.

There was no sign of immediate pursuit, so he made a dash up the stairs. His wounds stung and his chest ached. Not to mention that his nose had started running behind his helmet, and it was _gross_.

Once he reached his hideout, he cleaned up as best he could, but then reluctantly replaced his red hood – he didn’t want to be unprotected if the fucker caught up with him. 

Then he set about tending his injuries. As he bound his arm and in between sneezes, he berated himself for all the sloppy mistakes he had made over the course of the evening – starting with getting out of bed in the first place. He couldn’t believe he had let the Talon get the jump on him like that. It had been a series of stupid, rooky mistakes, and that had almost cost him his life. 

The Talon had just been so _distracting_ , and there was something familiar in the way he fought, like an echo of Jason’s own moves; it was disconcerting. So much so that he had misjudged a kick and left himself open to a severe blow. The Talon had spun back, away from the strike zone and watched him try to recover, masked face cocked curiously to one side as Jason tried to stem the bleeding and collect himself. His right arm was temporarily out of action and his gun was under the Talon's boot. It was not a good situation.

“Why don’t you run, little mouse?” the Talon asked.

“Little mouse? Is that some reference to owl food?” Jason asked. He had started to suspect that this Talon was a few sandwiches short of a picnic. 

The Talon said nothing. Watching and waiting. It was unnerving.

Jason had used the breather to plan several escape routes and ways to take the Talon down — in theory at least. When he attacked, it was a brutal assault to compensate for his wounded right arm. But the Talon moved like liquid silk, sliding aside and slicing a hot line across Jason’s neck – aimed perfectly to slide between Jason’s helmet and jacket. It could have been a killing blow, it should have been. But the Talon had just watched him with apparent interest as Jason cussed, sneezed and reassessed the situation. 

He was seriously off his game. And he was going to get killed. It was about that point he had taken the Talon's advice and run like hell.

 

He didn’t think he had ever been so grateful for a crack house before. He sat on the floor to bandage himself up, shotgun beside him, one eye on the locked hatch and the other on the tiny window. A small amount of light from the city outside was the only illumination, but it was enough to see by. 

Then a lot of things happened at once; a shadow obscured the light from outside, Jason reached for his gun, and the glass from the window shattered inwards, exploding from the impact of a dagger. A second knife followed a moment behind. The first struck Jason’s shotgun, knocking it aside, and the second hit him in the palm of his left hand as he reached for the weapon. It pinned him, glove and all, to the wall. _Motherfucker_. 

“Tut tut, little mouse.” The Talon said. “If you move the next one will cut it off.” He twirled his dagger in his fingers, casually threatening. 

“Fuck's sake, you’re going to kill me anyway, why not just do it?” Jason snarled through the pain. He was trying to figure out the damage to his hand, and if he could risk just jerking out the weapon.

“I haven’t said my lines yet,” the Talon said, a certain amount of glee in his voice. 

Jason boggled at him from behind his mask. “Your lines? This isn’t a fucking play!”

The Talon ignored him. He seemed to be having fun. “Red Hood. The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.”

“Red Hood? Don’t you mooks even know my name?”

“Your name means nothing to me, little mouse.”

“So basically, you’re killing a vigilante persona? I’m not the first Red Hood you know. And most likely won't be the last.”

The Talon cocked its head again – the action reminded Jason of the velociraptors in Jurassic Park: curious, assessing and about to disembowel and eat you.

“Talons are the same, right? You’re just some dead guy with the name of your predecessors. And all the ones that come after you will just be more murder drones.” Although engaging the assassin in inane conversation seemed completely insane, Jason was very aware of the fact he was still alive and talking. It seemed as good a plan as any.

“I’m not dead,” the Talon said indignantly. “I’m _the_ Talon.”

“How long have you been ‘ _the_ ’ Talon?” Jason asked, sarcastically. “You seem a bit young, if you’re not dead.”

“About 36 hours. Your Bat decommissioned my predecessor. I got an early promotion.” he said the word ‘Bat’ with extreme distaste.

“Well bully for you. And when someone takes you down, and they _will_ , then you’ll just get replaced. Kind of a pointless existence.”

The Talon stalked closer, his knife held casually, unthreatening. He slid onto Jason’s lap– a move he had not been anticipating. The motion jarred his hand and the pain spun through him like jagged spikes. But he remained quiet, with his left hand still pinned to the wall and his right arm still bloody and numb, there wasn’t much he could do but wait and hope for an opportunity. 

“You’re talking, but all I can hear is 'squeak, squeak, squeak,” the Talon said, examining the wound his knife had made in Jason’s hand. He prodded it with gloved fingers and Jason bared his teeth as he tried not to react. This Talon was completely nuts, but he was curious. That was something Jason could use. 

“Jason,” Jason said. It was a common enough name.

“Jason?”

“My name. If you’re going to kill me, shouldn’t you at least know who you’re killing?”

The Talon shrugged, a sinuous movement that would have drawn Jason’s approving eye in other circumstances. As it was, having a lap full of bat-shit crazy assassin was not even slightly fun. 

“Names mean nothing to me, I am above such things, ” the Talon stated confidently, but he was examining Jason’s helmet curiously. Jason willed him to try and remove it, for his obvious interest to overwhelm his training.

“Like what you see?” Jason taunted. And he realized the mad bastard _did_ like what he was seeing; he was fascinated, and that was the reason Jason still lived. Jason’s heart sped up again with a spike of adrenaline. He wasn’t out of the game yet, this was something he could exploit. 

“If you were not the first ‘Hood, or the last, who will replace you?” The Talon asked after a moment of examining Jason’s wounded right arm. He wasn’t gentle, but Jason didn’t object to the rough, probing touches.

“Don’t know, someone who’s pissed enough at Batman, I guess.”

The Talon flinched again at the word Batman. 

“Not keen on old Bats are you?” Jason asked, his own curiosity rising. The previous Talon had been indifferent to anything but his mission. Perhaps this one's promotion _was_ too early. 

The Talon went back to examining Jason’s helmet. Running his inquisitive fingers over it.

“I don’t like this,” the Talon told him, “it looks like you have a tomato on your head.”

Jason suffered a sudden, inappropriate burst of indignation - he _liked_ his helmet, thank you very much! Still, this was the chance he had been waiting for. Even as the thought entered his head, the Talon apparently couldn’t resist any longer and his clever fingers started searching for the catch. Jason let him and as soon as the helmet hissed its release, and before the Talon even started to pull it off, Jason began to tap out his defense code using the tiny sensors on his gloved right hand. 

The Talon looked at his face as it was revealed – what he could see of it behind the domino, and the millisecond before the Talon discarded the helmet Jason finished the detonation code. He turned his face quickly to the side as the red hood exploded in the Talon's hands, sending him flying backwards with a surprised yell.

Jason pulled the knife from his left palm as quickly and carefully as he could. The sensible thing to do was to run, nurse his wounds, get backup if he had too. But he was sick of being chased all over the goddamn city, sick of being beaten by this owl-ninja whack job. 

Ignoring the throbbing pain in his hand and arm, Jason lunged for the downed Talon. His opponent was recovering fast and Jason unlashed a series of moves that Bruce had taught him – they had in fact been one of his earliest lessons from the Bat, a way to take down an opponent bigger and stronger than you – knock them off their feet and give yourself a chance to run. It was achingly familiar – he didn’t even have to think about it. Even after all this time, those lessons felt like they were carved into his bones.

The Talon began to respond, to match his blows in a perfect, unbelievable counter. Then things took a turn for the strange. As Jason backed off to regroup, the Talon let out a pained moan and clutched at his own head. Jason hadn’t even punched him in the face yet. Maybe it was the owls doing something nasty to him, maybe the small helmet explosion had rattled up his brains, perhaps it was something else. Jason didn’t give a shit, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and he attacked, raining down crippling blows to the head and legs. If the Talon wasn’t dead, he might not have those nifty regenerating skills yet. 

If he was to be honest with himself, it was the messiest attack he had ever executed. He was fairly sure at least half his kicks missed there their mark entirely, but he was angry and this little feathery upstart had nearly killed him. When the Talon finally stopped moving, Jason took out his custom made zip ties and bound him hand and foot. He wasn’t even sure the damn thing was still alive, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He was also not just going to chuck bits of him in the river like he had the last time. He wanted some answers, and even if it was dead, he suspected the assassin would be alive and kicking again soon enough. 

 

The trip to his eastside safe house was an ungainly one. He was exhausted, both arms and hands were hurting and bleeding and the Talon was a lot heavier that he had anticipated. The eastside safe house was in a disused warehouse near the docks. It was the place he used for his more unsavory jobs. Wetworks, if you will. He didn’t like torture, or causing people pain, but he would do it if he had too, and there were some folks he had zero sympathy for. 

Mad Talons were definitely on that list. 

He strapped his prisoner firmly to the chair bolted to the floor in the middle of the room. It was illuminated by a single bare bulb hanging directly above, leaving the rest of the large workspace in shadow. Jason had become a master at extracting information using mostly fear. He enjoyed scaring the crap out of criminals far more than he liked pulling out fingernails.

Prisoner secured, he went to the fridge he kept stocked in the corner. He needed a fucking beer and a couple of painkillers. His hand felt like it had been crushed in a vise, the pain was an intense aching throb and he was almost scared to look at it. And on top of that he figured he was running a low-grade fever. The Talon remained still, head hanging limply, so Jason tended his own injuries. 

Astonishingly, the knife hadn’t broken the delicate bones of his hand. Whether that was luck or incredible aim by his enemy Jason wasn’t sure. The injury still hurt like a son of a bitch though, and if the bastard had done any permanent damage he was going to do the same in return. With interest.

Wounds dealt with, Jason slipped on an insulated glove and goggles to begin the process of removing the Talon's mask and armor – if he had defenses in his suit he wasn’t going to take any chances, a lesson he was fairly sure the Talon had now learned too. With some cussing and an ineffectual electric shock from the armor, Jason managed to get the gauntlets and hood off. 

The Talon had roughly cut black hair and olive skin – he looked a little pale from lack of sun, but he definitely did not have the pallid dead look of the other Talon Jason had dealt with. He was still limp, blood dribbling onto the floor from his down-turned face. Jason checked for a pulse and found it strong. Tough little bastard.

The Talon raised his head, shook the hair out of his eyes and glared at him. 

The beer slid from Jason’s hand and exploded against the concrete floor, sending fizz and glass scattering across his boots. He paid it no heed.

He was looking at a ghost.

He blinked, in case he was hallucinating. He even went as far as poking his wounded hand to jerk himself out of the sleep he surely must be in. But no, he was staring at the somewhat bloody, somewhat more mature face of Richard Grayson, the first Robin, Batman’s obsession and missing these last six years. The nemesis Jason had never even met – and yet knew almost as well as he knew Bruce. 

"Well, fuck," he said. 

 

Things made more sense now. His ability to meet and mach Jason’s nifty moves, moves Bruce had taught him. The strange familiarity when he fought. He figured the Talons were all brainwashed into servitude, so it was even possible that the Talon recognized Jason’s fighting style and that tripped some defense in his mind, leading to his eventual melt-down and collapse. Okay, it was a working theory. 

But still, he couldn’t quite believe it. He lifted the Talon's head by the hair and examined him closely. The Talon spat and snarled like a beast, but Jason ignored him. The resemblance was uncanny. Either this was the missing Robin, or it was his fucking doppelgänger. He wouldn’t know for sure, not until he did some tests, but he knew in his gut he was looking at the real deal. 

“What’s your name, Talon?” Jason asked.

“I have no name.”

Jason leaned back in his chair. Pondering the miserable creature in front of him. The words were very Talon-like, but the spitting temper tantrum was nothing like the cold indifference of the other servants of the Court. They'd had him for up to six years – more than enough time to brainwash him- even someone as strong willed as a Robin had to be. 

So why if this was _the_ Talon, their current assassin, had he been sent after Jason and not Batman? He might be all fresh and new, but he was fucking deadly. Jason thought it might be something to do with this Talon’s unpredictability. For a brainwashed murderer he seemed to have an excess of personality. 

He had several options. He could return him to Bruce, get him to run some tests, watch him get all stiff and emotional if it was Grayson. Or he could call the cops and lock him up with the other captured Owls. Alternatively, he could always kill him, and fuck Bruce and his habit of losing Robins. Or he could go along with his original plan and try to extract some info out of his new pet killer. 

The Talon seemed to be following his thoughts somewhat and cocked his head like a raptor again, grinning nastily with bloodstained teeth. “Are you going to kill me, little mouse?”

“Seeing as you’re the one tied to the chair, can we stop with the obnoxious nicknames?”

“Just because I’m currently incapacitated doesn’t mean you're any less of a mouse.” 

Jason ignored him. “So, you’ve been the big bad Talon for less than two days and you’re already out of the game? Not too good huh?”

The Talon scowled. There was something almost childlike about him – if a brainwashed assassin who had spent a fun evening poking holes in him could ever be considered in such a light. 

Jason got himself another beer, taking a few moments to think. He was going to have to do a DNA test to be sure. Getting a sample of Grayson’s blood from Bruce without alerting him was going to be hard. Even mentioning his poor lost Robin was enough to send Bruce into an angry funk for days.

He sat opposite his captive and took a thoughtful tug on his beer. “Name Dick Grayson mean anything to you?” he asked. 

The Talon flinched. “No.” 

“Not much of a liar, _Robin_.” Another flinch and a hiss that sounded more animal than human. Jason took another swallow. “Thirsty?”

The Talon just looked at him flatly when Jason offered him the beer. “Water,” he said, eventually.

“You get beer or nothing.”

“Trying to get me drunk, little mouse?”

Jason snorted. “Nah, just don’t fancy walking all the way over to the fridge again. Some asshole beat the crap out of me and I’m tired.” He yawned to illustrate his point. 

The Talon smirked and tilted his face up so Jason could dribble some beer into his mouth. Then he screwed his face up. “That’s gross!”

“Never had a beer before? It grows on you.”

“Can we cut the crap? If you’re going to kill me, get on with it. If you are going to interrogate me, you shouldn’t bother – I know nothing, and there is nothing you can do to me that will turn me. If you are going to feed me more disgusting beverages hurry up and get it over with.”

“Sassy thing, aren’t you? I’ve got questions.”

“I won’t, I _can’t_ reveal anything about the Court. So you may as well go straight to the nasty stuff and save both of us some time.”

“Forget them. I want to know about _you_.”

There was that head tilt again. Jason was starting to find it strangely endearing – the way a trained attack dog could still look cute before you overstepped the line and it ripped your throat out, tail wagging happily for a job well done. 

“There is no _me_. Only them.”

“There _was_ a you, Dick.”

“No” He sounded bleak, broken. “No me, I only serve the Court of Owls.”

“Do you want to?”

“Want?” The Talon looked at Jason like he was speaking in tongues.

“Yeah, want. Do you _want_ to serve them? Did you choose to serve them?”

“I serve the Court.” He looked pained, like something was coming undone inside him. “Red Hood, the Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.” He flexed his muscles, but didn’t struggle. 

Jason felt something like pity for him. It was not a comfortable feeling. 

“So,” he said. “You tell me torture doesn’t work – and having dealt with brainwashed freaks before, I am inclined to believe you. Some folks could probably break you that way – but I don’t have the patience.” He looked into the Talon's battered, pretty face. “Let's do an exchange of information. I’ll ask a question and if you answer, you get to ask one in return.”

“You have nothing I would be interested in,” the Talon responded, but Jason knew he had him, just from his earlier observations. This was a creature that had seen too much and not enough, someone who was curious and strangely desperate for interaction. He was desperate for something, _anything_.

“First question, birdie. What do you remember before them? Before the Owls?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Jason lowed his voice, softened it. “Do you remember the circus?”

After the petty argument that had sent fifteen-year-old Dick storming from the Wayne house, he had been seen heading towards Haly’s Circus – his old home, back in town at last. Jason knew that Bruce had questioned them – terrorized them, he suspected. But they had denied Dick had ever reached them. He had just disappeared, and nothing Bruce or the Bat had done had uncovered what had happened. That hadn’t stopped him hunting for his lost son, and obsessing over his own failure to find him – To the detriment of everyone else who had ever loved him.

The Talon shuddered at his question, a full body wince. 

Jason leaned forward, his voice still soft and rhythmic. “The smell of popcorn, candy floss and trampled earth. The sound of children laughing, the cheering under the big top?”

“No!” The Talon shook his head violently. “No I mustn’t!” He looked distraught. 

Jason sat back. “Your turn, owl boy.”

“Mine?” he asked, still shaking. “You have nothing I want!”

Jason made a sound in his throat. Alfred had told him Dick was a stubborn one – when the old man spoke of him his face had been lined with pain, but unlike Bruce, there was also fond remembrance, memories of a cheeky little boy who delighted in raiding the fridge and cheating at cards, but could never let his conquests go unnoticed – so he always gave them away in order to revel in his victory. 

“You can ask anything. About me, about stuff I know, or you can ask for food and water. You can ask what I know of you. Or, if none of that appeals, you tell me something about yourself.”

“I would like water,” the Talon said. “And–“

“Uh-uh – a question for a question.” Jason heaved his tired body up and fetched some water. The Talon maintained eye contact as he drank. And Jason reminded himself he shouldn’t find crazy assassins attractive, even in a purely aesthetic sense. 

“My question then,” Jason said, still holding his gaze. “What is the first thing you remember?”

The Talon leaned toward him, half threatening, half seductive. “ _Pain_.”

That wasn’t a surprising answer, but the look in the Talon's eyes was… intense. 

“Ask, then.”

“I want to rest.” The Talon said, sending him a sly look from under his lashes. 

Jason couldn’t deny the fact bed was calling him as well. His eyes were heavy and gritty and his body ached from the numerous beatings he had received over the course of the evening. 

“All right we’ll postpone this shit until morning.” He needed to sleep to shake off his cold, and to deal with whatever tomorrow was going to chuck at him.

 

The other useful thing about this safe house was the reinforced cell Jason had constructed in the basement area. It was as secure as he could make it, and contained an impressive amount of restraints. 

The Talon was obviously as exhausted as he was, and he only tried to escape once before Jason fixed electro-manacles to his ankles. He wasn’t a total asshole though, and he left a bottle of water, a blanket and a bucket for his overnight guest. Then he set the alarm and staggered off to his own bed.


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning Jason was up early, a plan already forming as he checked the security footage of the Talon – still asleep, curled under the blanket. Jason felt better; his fever had broken during the night, and although his nose was still stuffy it wasn’t doing a mucusy impression of Niagara Falls. He checked his injuries, the wound in his palm swollen and sore, but it didn’t have the heat of infection, he was one lucky son of a bitch. He changed the dressings before throwing on his civie clothes and hitting the streets. 

Enzo’s was a small, busy coffee shop on the edge of New Town. It was fairly unremarkable, except for the exceptional quality of its coffee and pastries. It was also the place that Alfred Pennyworth always picked up Bruce’s favorite coffee blend, like clockwork, every Wednesday morning at 9:15a.m. Then Alfred would sit, read the paper and eat two Danish pasties with his own cup of black coffee. 

Jason slid into the seat opposite him. Alfred, to his credit, just put down his paper and lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Hey Alf.”

“Master Jason. This is a rare pleasure.”

Jason sort of squirmed. He loved Alfred, he had no trouble admitting that to himself, but he was one of the few people that could make him feel like a kid with his hand stuck in the cookie jar with one look or a simple comment.

His carefully planned speech evaporated under Alfred’s assessing stare. “Alf, here’s the thing – I know me and Bruce are not on good terms, and you’ve got no need to trust me. But I need a favor, it won't hurt anyone.” 

Alfred regarded him steadily for a moment and Jason held still for his scrutiny. It was a difficult task.

“And am I to assume, that with you coming to me to discuss this favor, you do not wish Master Bruce to know of it?”

“You got it, Alfie.” Jason met his eyes. “I’m going to use your info to find out something important – it will be to all our benefits if it works out. And no matter our issues, this is separate, and I would do it anyway. Do I have your word?” Before Alfred could answer, Jason held up a finger. “Obviously if you think I’m going to use this knowledge badly, you can do what you want with it.” It was a risk, but he hoped it would make the man trust him – he had little reason to, except for the relationship they’d had when Jason was a kid. 

“As long as you mean no harm, you can ask me anything and rely on my discretion. I am rather good at being discreet.” His eyes twinkled a little.

Jason nodded. “Ok, well it’s a biggie – but I don’t want to get B’s hopes up – not until I’m sure. But I might have a lead on Dick Grayson.”

Alfred sucked in a breath. He had loved Dick as much as Bruce had, and Jason had to clamp down on a surge of jealousy. “I need a sample of DNA to be sure, and it will take me a week or two to pull things together¬…”He trailed off. 

Alfred was nodding. “If Master Bruce knew in these early stages he might get his hopes up.”

"Yeah, but you know it's more than that. I have contacts, and Bruce's. . ." He sought for the right word. "Intensity, might upset the balance."

“I understand. And if you can bring Master Bruce some closure, or find the boy – young man— himself, then I will help you where I can. Give me details of where I should send it, and I will do so. Or indeed, if you wish to send me your samples, the caves computer can have your results in a matter of hours.” He reached a hand out to lay on top of Jason’s, where it rested on the table. “I trust you in this, and you can trust me.”

Jason nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Trust like that was not something he was offered often. He squeezed the old man's hand. “I won't let you down. I’ll send it through, so just give me a bit of time and I'll give you guys whatever I’ve got.”

“See that you do, Master Jason. And I shall insure my part of the bargain is done.”

 

The conversation with Alfred put a spring in Jason’s step as he headed back to the warehouse. He trusted Alfred’s integrity more than he trusted any one else’s. The pleased feeling lasted right up until he arrived back at his warehouse to find the door jimmied open. _Fuck_.

On closer inspection, it had been opened from the _outside_. That indicated a whole other kind of trouble and he stopped only to grab a bigger gun before running to his Talon's cell.

There were two of them in the cell: the tall willowy figure of a woman and a broad man. The man was dripping with what Jason suspected was piss. His Talon was wielding his bucket as a shield and a weapon, attempting to keep his attackers at bay. 

"—sentences you to die," the woman was saying. “Perhaps then you will be of more use to us.” 

His Talon hissed, but didn’t move from his defensive crouch. He didn’t even flick an eye in Jason’s direction, but he knew he had been seen, he could read it in his Talons body. He didn’t warn the two intruders. 

Jason fired his shotgun just below the woman’s knees, two blasts. Her leg flew sideways, held onto her body by the remains of her leggings. He fired once into the guy, pushing him back and sending him off balance before blasting a series of shots into the woman’s head. She staggered and went down, her useless leg folding beneath her. The male Talon lunged at him, avoiding the next blast of the shotgun. Jason shifted sideways, trying to conceal that he was still favoring his right arm. But the Talon darted past him and away. Jason considered going after him, but in the shape he was in he figured it might not end well. 

His Talon was beating what was left of the woman’s head into a bloody, greasy smear with his bucket. He was splattered with gore and had a fierce snarl on his face, something desperate and angry. 

“So,” Jason said, as the Talon straightened and looked at him curiously. “Truce?”

 

Freeing the Talon was stupid. It was insane, but Jason did it anyway. He was a rebel, or maybe just an idiot. The Talon seemed surprised, but very pleased. He smiled – not sly or smirky, but genuinely happy. And Jason decided to take the chance. 

The Eastside safe-house was compromised, so they traveled together to one of Jason’s others. The penthouse of the Gotham Garden Tower hotel was not somewhere anyone who actually knew Jason would expect to find him. It was a place frequented by people with more money than sense.

He dressed his pet Talon in an oversized hoodie and jeans, and the man at the desk flicked him a knowing look as they made there way through the lobby. _Yeah, not what you think, pal_.

The Talon looked around the suite, checking in drawers and under the glass coffee table. Jason watched him with some amusement. “I’m surprised you didn’t try to kill me and take me back to the owl freaks as an offering, to wiggle your way back into their good graces,” he said. 

The Talon put down the vase he was examining. He twitched and shuddered for a moment, sending Jason a pained and slightly wild glance from beneath his shaggy hair. “I do not,” he paused and licked his split lower lip. “I do not wish to die. And that is the only avenue I have left.”

“When you die, you’ll belong to them completely, won't you? Be nothing but their puppet?”

The Talon, looked at him grimly, his fists clenched and the deep blue of his eyes dark with pain.

“I’m nothing but what they make me.”

“But you could be more,” Jason said. He sensed that desire, the buried anger. Right here was the biggest, most powerful weapon they had against the Court of Owls. Knowledge about them, a way in to their shadowy society. “Do thoughts of rebellion cause you pain?” 

The Talon nodded, his body still shifting and tense. On impulse Jason reached out a hand and rested it on his shoulder. The Talon stared at it like it was a viper.

“Look,” Jason said, trying to make himself sound as earnest and trustworthy as he could. “If we work together, we can keep you free of them. We can destroy them.”

“You can’t. The Court is endless and all powerful.”

“Bullshit. Batman doesn’t take kindly to this kind of thing, and Gotham is his city. Now he knows they’re here, he won’t rest until he’s rid of them,” Jason said.

“They will kill him and every thing he loves.”

“He is notoriously hard to get rid of, trust me, I’ve tried.”

The Talon blinked up at him, brow creasing in confusion. “Isn’t the Bat your master?”

“ _No_. I don’t work for him. I’m my own man. I’ve fought to be this way. Me and the Bat, we’re learning to co-exist, but we don’t always see eye to eye.”

The Talon looked very pleased by that, smiling up at him again, then he reached out and ran calloused fingers over Jason’s face. The move surprised him, but he remained still, allowing the exploratory touch. The Talon prodded the cut by Jason’s mouth – a product of his own fist in their fight last night, then ran fingers into his hair, pulling and smoothing back the strands. Then faster than Jason could react, the Talon knocked his feet out from under him and grabbed him by the throat. 

Crazy assassin. _Right_ , he should try to remember that.

The Talon snarled down at him. “Why are you doing this? It makes no sense for you to help me!”

Jason’s struggled to talk around the crushing grip on his throat, and the Talon eased up slightly. “I know who you are.”

The Talon looked down at him. Expressions of confusion, want and rage were fighting for dominance on his pretty face. Jason schooled his own features to calm. “I know who you are, who you were, where you came from.” 

The Talon let him go and sat back on his heels. Jason sucked in air, not bothering to pretend he wasn’t. 

“I’m nothing,” the Talon said, with a grimace of genuine pain.

“Bullshit. You’re a person and you came from somewhere. I think I know where.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Jason shrugged. “I’m not sure I believe it myself yet – but I’m going to do a DNA test to find out.”

A sudden idea occurred to him. “I’ll show you what I know, and you can decide for yourself.” He staggered to his feet and headed for his laptop. A quick google search found what he was looking for. A newspaper article with the headline ‘ _Billionaire Playboy Takes In Orphan Gypsy'_ : not a very PC headline, and not a very flattering article. But there was a color picture of Bruce, smiling and waving, one hand resting on the back of a small boy. The Talon leaned over his shoulder, staring at the screen and at the image of his younger self.

“Is that me?” he asked, wonder in his voice along with the pain. They had conditioned him but good. 

“I think so.”

“And that’s my father?” 

“Foster father.” 

The Talon breathed deeply a few times. “Do your tests,” he said.

 

Jason did the tests. Alfred came through for him and by nine that evening they had their results. 

Dick Grayson, alive and well. Sort of. 

Alfred, his voice choked with emotion, had promised not to let Bruce know until Jason was ready for him, and Jason trusted the old man to keep his word. 

The Talon ¬– _Dick_ – took the news with a blank face, before locking himself in the bathroom. Jason left him to it. He cracked open a beer from the mini-bar and settled himself on the couch to think. He could use this against Bruce easily, but in doing so he would betray Alfred and he couldn’t do that. He was going to have to suck it up and do the right thing – but he had to do it carefully. 

Dick came out of the bathroom with a determined look on his face. “My name is Richard Grayson,” he said.

Jason couldn’t help but notice the shiver of pain as he said the words. “They trained you to feel pain when you had any sense of yourself or your past.” It wasn’t a question, but Dick nodded anyway. “We’re going to have to try to deprogram you.”

The Talon cocked his head. 

“Take away the negative associations,” Jason explained.

“How?” 

“Fuck if I know. What do you want for dinner, Dickie?” 

Dick stalked towards him looking predatory. “What do you have on offer, little mouse?” 

Jason managed to ignore the nickname, since he had a feeling he was not going to get rid off it any time soon. He flipped open his laptop and shoved it toward the Talon, who was perching on the arm of the couch like a gargoyle. “Select the take-out of your choice.” 

Dick blinked at him, as Jason handed over the computer. “Choice?” 

“Yeah, dumbass, choose what you want to eat.” They had to start with the free will shit somewhere didn’t they? And food was a nice easy one. 

Dick carefully read through the cuisine on offer. “Pizza?” 

Jason grinned.

Dick didn’t know what he liked, so they ordered a bit of everything. This safe house and the credit card that went with it were all funded by carefully siphoned money from various criminal organizations. They could afford to splash out a bit. They sat on the couch, surrounded by beer, pizza and garlic bread. It felt strangely like they were friends, rather than strangers who had been enemies twenty-four hours ago. Jason was keenly aware of the other man as they ate. It was a thrilling mix of attraction and potential disaster.

He really had to have a stern word with himself over the crazy shit that turned him on. 

“So, little mouse–”

“Jason.” 

“So, _Jason_.” Dick drew his name out mockingly. “Do you have a plan, or are we going to spend the time before the Court catches up with us stuffing our faces and drinking?” He raised an eyebrow at Jason’s two empty beer bottles. 

“I’m working on a plan – and they won’t find us, not until I’m ready for them.”

“They will.” Dick sounded resigned. “They will find us. They will tear your skin off in strips, flay you, and put you in a room with starving rats, and they will watch you scream and beg and be slowly eaten.”

Jason put down his slice of pizza. “You are completely bonkers aren’t you?” Dick just blinked his big blue eyes at him.

“Then they’ll take me back. They will punish me.” He shuddered. “Then they’ll kill me and I will belong to them completely.” He stuffed a piece of ham and pineapple pizza into his mouth and chewed vigorously.

“You seem pretty sure.”

“I am.”

“How long do you think we’ve got?” Jason asked. The Court was resourceful and highly skilled. But he was certain that together, the two of them could hold them off – at least until reinforcements arrived.

Dick ignored the question, instead grabbing Jason’s beer out of his hand and taking a swig. He grimaced, apparently still not seeing the appeal. It was as though he was determined to try everything during the small amount of freedom he felt he had left. His expression while shoveling pepperoni pizza into his mouth had bordered on obscene. Then there had been the garlic bead. Jason wasn’t sure he was ever going to recover from seeing him eat the garlic bread. 

Jason had a big appetite, but Dick out-ate him. He ate until he looked like he was going to puke. He didn’t though, he just held out a hand for a beer when Jason fetched one for himself. 

“You hate the stuff. If you want to get drunk, I can mix you something that tastes good,” Jason said.

Dick perked up; apparently his taste sensation tour was not over. 

“You want sweet, sour or bizarre?” Jason flung open the mini bar. He had all the fixings for simple cocktails. He was just buzzed enough to not bother speculating on why he was sitting in a $1000 a night hotel room making cocktails for a murderous freak. 

“All of them,” Dick said. He looked determined. 

 

After a whisky sour, two tall glasses of Tequila Sunrise and now working his way through Jason’s coup de grace of cocktail making – his own version of a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster – Dick looked like he was going to topple off the couch. Jason was made of sterner stuff, and he was carefully sticking to his limits, because as much as he would love to get drunk, he was listening to the sensible part of his brain that suggested being off his face with a tipsy assassin was a bad idea. This proved to be a good plan. 

“I want to have sex with you,” Dick told him earnestly, before ruining the moment by trying to take a drink and missing his mouth, splashing the blue liquid down his chest. He swore in a language Jason wasn’t familiar with.

“What did you say?” 

“I want to have sex with you.”

Jason waved his hand – he would deal with that little bombshell in a minute. “No, what did you just say – I didn’t understand the language you spoke.”

Dick furrowed his brow. “Dunno.”

“The drink is lowering your inhibitions, it’s letting you access memories.” It was a guess, but of the languages that he knew Dick spoke when he had gone missing, there were only a few Jason was not familiar with. Řomanes? Maybe Tamaranian? Something he would have known _before_ , not learned while with the Court. 

Dick nodded like he was making sense, then took another huge gulp of his drink. “So, sex?”

He was so hot, and crazy and aggressive and needy, and Jason knew if they fucked it would be incredibly good. But there was no way he was going to sleep with someone this drunk and vulnerable, however horny he was. Even if the guy was an assassin. So he reached out a hand and drew the Talon – ex Talon? – close, removing what was left of his drink with the other. 

“We can talk about that tomorrow, pretty boy.” 

Dick said nothing, but he smiled against Jason’s chest. It took less than five minutes for him to fall asleep. Jason laid him carefully on the couch and he covered him with a blanket. Then he headed to his own bed.

 

There were no Owls the next morning. In fact Jason rose feeling refreshed, and doubly glad that he had taken precautions with his drinking. Dick was still huddled on the couch when he strolled into the room. The Talon looked kind of grey, and Jason felt for him – the first hangover of your life had to be brutal. And because he was an asshole who relished other people's pain, Jason opened the blinds with a grin and put all the false cheer and pep into his voice he could as he wished him a good morning. Dick growled like an animal and threw a pillow at him. Jason counted that as a win.

Room service soon drew him out though. He ate a huge amount of breakfast and seemed a bit more alive by noon. 

Dick spent most of the day in the bathroom. Jason wasn’t sure what he was doing in there, but whatever. It gave him time alone to think. Firstly, what was he going to do with Dick now he had him? Dick seemed convinced the Court would find them – and Jason knew they would eventually. And what then? If they sent a bunch of undead assassins, it was quite possible they would be in deep shit. Either they had to come up with a foolproof plan to freeze the fuckers, kill them or stay ahead of them. 

Or they needed back-up. And in Gotham, that meant the Batman. 

Jason wasn’t quite sure he was ready for that on many levels. Bruce and he were not on the worst terms they had ever been, but they weren’t super great either. 

And he wasn’t sure he was ready to give Dick over to the Bat yet either. For purely selfish reasons. He had often felt envious of the family working together, and nostalgic for the time he had spent with Bruce, their time as Batman and Robin. Having a partner could be very beneficial. And Dick had none of those ‘no killing’ hang-ups. Not to mention he was very easy on the eyes.

And that brought him to his final few problems. Firstly the sex thing. Jason didn’t think that was just the drink talking; there had been a spark between them from the start. And now that he thought about it, that was kind of strange. Why hadn’t Dick killed him during the many chances he had been given? He had the sudden sneaking suspicion that instead of Jason randomly ending up with this potential ally against the Court, he had been chosen by _Dick_ for the part of comrade-in-arms. An outsider, a rebel, someone who would help him fight not only against the Court, but also against the Bat if it came to that. 

Huh. That more he thought about it the more right that theory felt. His Talon had been watching him, long before he attacked, he was sure of it. “Hey bird brain!” he yelled.

Dick emerged from the bathroom, his hair wet and ragged. 

“How long have you been following me?” Jason asked without preamble.

Dick grinned, showing teeth, and stalked closer. “Months, little mouse. I watched you every chance I got.” He advanced until he was looking down at Jason, where he sat, sprawled on the couch. “I watched you hunt – I watched you choose who lived and who died. That’s what made me look closer. You had–” he struggled with the words for a moment “–you had compassion, you didn’t harm those who were innocent, even if they got in your way.” He looked wistful. “I would have liked to have had that choice.”

And wasn’t that a weird way of looking at his actions. Jason was very comfortable with his moral choices, whatever Batman had to say about it, but he sure as shit wasn’t used to people looking up to him for it. 

Dick slid down until he was perched on Jason’s knees, hands on his shoulders. “I watched you eat pizza and drink beer, I watched you throw things at your television when that man you don’t like was speaking. I watched you wash your dishes and scrub the blood off your clothes.”

That was... alarming. He had been completely unaware of his stalker, hell none of them had even known the Court of Owls existed until a few month ago. 

“I watched you touch yourself at night in your bed.”

And yeah, he had sort of expected that was coming, but he honestly wasn’t sure if the Talon's stalking made him feel flattered or violated, or some unholy mix of the two. “What else you watch me do, you creeper?” he asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. 

“I watched you touch your self. I watched you put your fingers inside your own body.” Jason felt his face flush with shame, even as his cock hardened in his pants.

He and his penis were going to have to have a long talk about appropriate turn-ons. 

“It looked so good, and made me feel lust when I watched, so I did the same to myself,” Dick said. 

And that was a seriously hot image. “What’d it feel like?”

“Strange.” He smiled. “The pleasures of the flesh are considered a distraction and are not allowed in training.”

“But you did it anyway, you rebel.”

Dick grinned at him again, pleased. “I did, even after they caught and punished me. And I always thought of you.”

Jason rested his hands on the Talon's thighs – this was fucked-up and wrong on a multitude of levels, but it was turning him in a way nothing had in years, ever maybe. To be desired and obsessed over in this way was something he hadn’t even known he wanted. 

“How’d they punish you for that?” 

They put an electroshock device on my penis,” Dick said, without even a twitch or wince. Jason felt the flat tang of anger in the back of his throat, followed by a rush of familiar rage. Oh yeah, he was losing himself in this thing they had. It was a one-way street to inevitable disaster. 

“I want to feel it for real, little mouse. I want to be with you, inside you and around you.”

Jason felt himself flush again, damn the things this freak did to him. “Are you propositioning me?” He was aiming for humorous, but his voice just sounded a little hoarse.

“Yes. In a matter of days I’m going to be back under them. You’ve given me pizza, beer and companionship. I want everything I can get before I’m theirs again.”

“Ever done anything like this before?” He was willing to bet his Talon was a blushing virgin.

Or perhaps not so blushing. Dick smiled like sex and violence. 

“Never even done this.” He lunged forward and kissed Jason. It was awkward and their teeth clashed. Dick’s hands were fisted in his shirt and he wrapped his ankles around Jason’s calves – holding him still. A spark of lust shot down Jason’s spine. Dick was attractive but it was the memory of the Talon fighting him that made his breath come fast. His ferocity and wildness, mixed with his naivety and terrible attempt at kissing that was more teeth than lips, just made Jason all hot and bothered.

Jason grabbed his hair and pulled him back slightly until their mouths were barely touching. “Easy there, tiger. Let me show you.”

Dick ignored him completely and kissed like he was fighting a battle. Perhaps in a way, he was. Jason let him dominate for a while. Despite killing people for a living he suspected Dick had little control over any aspect of his life for a long time. 

Dick was getting frantic, and Jason was happily being dragged along by his desire – Dick actually tore his t-shirt off him, and that was a hell of a lot harder to do than it looked in the movies. One of his hands grabbed at Jason’s bare shoulder, and the other curled lightly around his neck, thumb brushing Jason’s throat. God that was hot, the casual strength behind the touch, matched against the needy way Dick was devouring his mouth. Jason grabbed at the Talon's borrowed Gotham Knights shirt and tugged it up. Dick seemed reluctant to stop kissing long enough to take it off, but after a brief struggle Jason prevailed and flung it to the floor. 

Jason pushed back so he could take a proper look at his Talon, and his lust curdled in his belly. He had seen torture, but nothing as methodical, calculated and cruel as this. Dick had hinted that he had been disobedient in the past, and he hadn’t been exaggerating. His torso was littered with scars – a mix of what looked like sharp injury and thermal. It was a mess – but it was also terrifyingly practical. An assassin with restricted movement was no use. Every injury, every scar, allowed the full range of motion. 

“What?” Dick asked, tilting his head. “Don’t like what you see?” His voice was mocking, and there was a glint of madness in his eyes.

Because he was a fuck-up, it was that madness that overcame Jason’s anger and reignited his desire. Dick didn’t seem self-pitying or ashamed, just mocking. So Jason reached out a finger and trailed the callused pad over the mess that used to be Dick’s left nipple. He was still beautiful – a fierce, unhinged weapon, a lost child, and Jason felt lust surge up in him again. Dick saw it, his eyes widening along with his smirk. And he leaned in to meet Jason’s kiss. He was still wild and unpracticed – and Jason fucking loved it. 

Jason’s fingers skimmed the Dick’s skin, sometimes soft and sometimes raising faint red welts. Dick’s moans were interspersed with feral growls and Jason didn’t think he had ever been this turned on. He didn’t think he had ever attempted to have sex with anyone as dangerous and crazy as his Talon.. And he vowed to take whatever happened and just _enjoy_. 

“Whatever you want baby, tell me what you want,” he breathed into Dick’s mouth. He felt those full lips curve against his, and felt him tremble — whether with lust or violence he couldn’t tell. 

“I told you. I want it all. I want you – any way I can, before they come to kill us.” 

“Very optimistic. Well, we have all night, so what do you want first?”

“I want to be inside you. I want to rip open your skin and suck out your marrow.”

Jason let free a burst of slightly crazy laughter. “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact you are the creepiest fucker I’ve ever met or the fact your creepiness flicks all my switches to _on_.”

Dick smiled his serial killer smile.

 

“You want to fuck me?” Jason asked. “Not just anyone is allowed that privilege, you know.” 

“How do I earn it then?” Dick asked. “Fight you for it?”

That was tempting; all the self destructive parts of him were very much in agreement with all the parts of him that were turned on by violence. He had long ago accepted that about himself – but at the same time, he suspected it would most likely end in blood, rather than sex, so he shook his head. Dick pouted at him, but seemed to accept it. 

“So, how about we start with a bed?” Jason asked. 

Dick reached out greedy hands for him, his lips fastening onto the soft skin of Jason’s jaw. He was going to be marked up tomorrow. The thought made him shiver with anticipation.

 

Somehow Jason got them into the bedroom. He dug out lube and condoms and then stood there, feeling awkward. He liked sex, he liked fucking and being fucked, but it was usually quick and dirty and he never saw his partner again. Either that or friends with benefits situation, like the one he had with Min Lee who worked at the garage he frequented. She was barely an inch over five feet, had a pixy cut and fucked him harder and more viciously than any man he had ever been with. Just the thought of it made him flush.

Dick didn’t give a shit about awkward apparently, and he shoved Jason in the center of his chest, sending him flying on to the bed – the boy was _strong_. He shed the rest of his clothes and prowled closer. Jason took a good look. Dick was all tight, lean muscle. Well, muscle and scars, which were horrific – spreading down his abdomen, over his hips and further down his thighs. Burn scars were clear to see on his erection, appearing as faint discoloration on his testicles. Jason had to shut his eyes and take a few deep breaths. It didn’t lessen his attraction, but it sparked such rage in him. He barely knew this man, but he wanted to make the Court _hurt_ for all the pain they had caused him. Tomorrow. Tomorrow they would make the fuckers pay. He held out his arms and Dick lunged into them, knocking the breath out of Jason in the process. 

 

"Slowly," he said, as Dick eased himself inside. Dick made a high noise in his throat as he passed though the tight ring of muscle. And then drove the rest of the way in, _hard_. The shock and pain drove the air out of Jason’s lungs and his arms gave way, leaving him facedown on the pillow, his ass still in the air, held up by Dick’s bruising grip on his hips. 

Apparently sensing his mistake, Dick held still, shaking against Jason’s body and sucking in audible breaths. Jason dragged in a few of his own. The pain was receding, and his body adjusting. He felt exposed and uncomfortable in this position, and yet, his cock was becoming interested in proceedings again. Stupid penis had its own priorities apparently and wasn’t bothered in the least about Jason’s embarrassment. 

“I said slowly, you moron!” he snarled. Dick patted his hip apologetically then leaned forward, gripping the back of his neck and pushing him into the sheets. 

“I could kill you like this, little mouse. I could kill you as I fucked you,” he said, as he started moving, his thrusts slow and deep. 

That shouldn’t have been a turn on, but every nerve in Jason’s body lit up like a Christmas tree. The Talon could kill him easily, and yet he found that hot. He was obviously as batshit crazy as Dick was.

But _damn_. 

Dick was fucking him in earnest now. His rhythm was all over the place and he was making all sorts of noises as he lost himself in his lust. Jason found himself moaning in return, stupid syllables falling past his lips. Rough heat and friction began to build to a crescendo inside of him. Dick was slamming into him, and Jason curled his fingers into the sheets and moved with him, drawing out each groan and muttered curse. Everything was wrong, and it was _perfect_. Pain and pleasure, shame and pride. Pulsing through him like a twisted poem. 

When he came, face still pushed into the pillow, he was too far gone even to shout, but the noise he made instead would probably be embarrassing when he remembered it another time. He collapsed in a sated heap. 

Dick bit him as he climaxed, hard enough to draw blood, to leave a scar. It filled Jason with a distinct joy. 

He was so fucked up.

 

Later, his body aching and abused, he looked at his sleeping Talon, looked at his pretty face, his scarred body, and the hands that had held him down while fucking him. He shivered with remembered lust. He felt like he had been possessed. This behavior was so unlike him. It made him feel good though, free, dangerous, like jumping off the top of a torrid waterfall.

Well, fuck it. He wasn’t afraid to fall, and he was willing to fight to get what he wanted, willing to fight even harder to keep it. 

That said, they needed a plan, and they needed it now.


	3. Chapter 3

He woke to Dick’s callused fingers trailing across his face, like he was memorizing it by touch. Dick’s blue eyes were sleepy and almost content and as soon as he saw Jason was awake he pressed in for a kiss, morning breath be damned.

“Thank you, little mouse – _Jason_.” He ran a hand down Jason’s chest, and down towards his hardening cock. He smiled. “You have given me everything. I never thought I would actually have this.”

“Yeah, well don’t get used to things like last night –it's going to take me more than a while to recover,” Jason groused. Now in the cold light of morning, he hurt all over. He was bruised, there was dried blood on his neck from Dick's teeth, and his ass hurt. 

Dick looked at him seriously. “I was thinking, this morning, you could take me. You seemed overwhelmed last night, and I would love to understand what you were feeling.”

Jason thought about his half-formed plan, about the Court of Owls hunting them, and about Dick impaled on his cock and moaning his name.

He pounced.

 

Dick was on his back, his hands clutching at Jason’s shoulders. His body was hot and tight as Jason fucked into him with even, controlled motions. The expression on Dick's face was an amazing combination of lust, pleasure and mild surprise, like he couldn’t work out why it was feeling so good, but he didn’t want it to end. He was also noisy, every thrust eliciting some strange sound – a moan or groan, or a strangled curse. He was clawing at Jason’s shoulders, one strong leg wrapped around his waist. He was uninhibited and full of wild joy, and it was mesmerizing to watch, endearing and somehow humbling. When he came he practically savaged Jason’s back, tearing it to shreds. The pain carried Jason through his own orgasm on a tide of pleasure. 

 

He was half-dozing when Dick poked him in the side. “How long before you recover. I want to do that again.”

Jason groaned. 

 

By mid afternoon they had fucked every-which way. They were both sore and aching, and sated – for now. Jason was dosing half sprawled over Dick’s body. His Talon didn’t seem to mind being crushed to death by Jason’s bulk. But the calm was shattered when the first alarm tripped.

They were both up and pulling on clothes in moments. Fucking Owls.

When fitting out this safe-house Jason had included a number of bolt holes, including one that led through the floor to the room below. They spent seven hours sitting cramped and bored in a wardrobe, surrounded by Armani suits. 

 

They spent the next seven hours running. 

Now it had their scent, the Court was relentless, and Jason’s plans went straight out the window. Jason hadn’t truly anticipated just how much they wanted their baby Talon back. Or how well they knew _him_. They destroyed his safe-houses and turned the familiar streets into death traps. Dick was apparently resigned to their inevitable fate, but Jason was less accepting. If they could just gain a little headway, if he could take the time to _think_ , then he could figure out a second plan – so far all he had come up with was getting to Bruce without leading the Court straight to him, and without looking like he needed the help.

By midnight he was flagging. He had sent several distress calls to Batman, to Oracle, to any fucker that would listen. He had never, ever asked for help before, and it made him feel ashamed. But he managed to convince himself it was for Dick, not him. He totally wasn’t running for his life. 

When it seemed they had lost their pursuers for the time being, they holed up in an abandoned building that was little more than a construction site. 

Dick watched the city from under cover of a sheet of billowing plastic and cleaned blood from beneath his nails with one of his knives. Jason sat against a pillar and attempted to salvage his phone – it had suffered a killing blow from a Talon's dagger, but saved him from the same. 

He was sure the Bat brigade was hunting for them. He just needed to get a signal out, but that was easier said than done. 

“They’re here.” Dick called out softly. 

Jason swore quietly and got to his feet. Time to fight. Again. 

There were four of them, more than he and Dick could handle, as tired and drained as they were. The problem wasn’t delivering a killing blow, it was keeping the bastards dead. 

He spun and struck out with his knife, sinking the blade into the first Talon's eye and kicking out a savage blow to the second assassin as it lunged at him from the side. It went down, and he only just managed to block a blow from the first, as it yanked the dagger out of its head and turned it on Jason. 

He slipped in a puddle of blood, which saved his life when the Talon swung the weapon a second time. It sailed through the empty air where his head had been moments before. The Talon he had downed before grabbed him by the throat and would probably have throttled the life out of him, but Dick’s dagger came flying from the left and straight into its skull. 

He had a horrible suspicion that had been Dick’s last weapon. They were going to die here, and that really pissed Jason off. He had just found someone crazier than he was, someone he could relate to, someone he could work with and have mind-blowing, slightly violent sex with. The universe just liked to tease him with shit he wanted, before it took it away again. 

Well not this time. He lashed out with Dick’s knife, aiming low. He hamstrung the first assailant and spun to block a slash from the second. Then a batarang knocked the knife from the Talon's hand and Jason had never been so happy to see something in his life. It wasn’t Batman though. There was a flash of purple and gold and Batgirl landed on the Talon with a satisfying crunch. She shot him with something from a dart gun, and the Talon reared back and fell to the floor. 

Batgirl fired again, felling the other Talon as it tried to drag itself away.

“Nice timing,” Jason gasped. “What’s that stuff?”

“Freezes their blood,” Batgirl said, and she sounded out of breath.

She shot the third assassin as it tried to rise. Meanwhile, Dick was beating his would-be assassin into a pulp with a length of wood. It lacked finesse, but he seemed to enjoying himself so Jason left him to it. 

“Very, very glad to see you, Bratgirl,” Jason said as he slid to the floor.

Steph huffed at him and winced as she eased herself down beside him. She had a split lip and was favoring her left arm. “Be a super hero they said, it's awesome they said.”

“Who has _ever_ said that? Aside from Superman.”

“I’m retiring,” Steph declared, wagging her gloved finger at the sky. “I am done with owls and crazy shit and I have a paper to write for tomorrow.”

Jason gave her a tired smirk. “Can I have your Bat Stuff then?”

“No, get your own.” She gave him the finger, but ruined the effect with a warm smile. 

They lapsed into an exhausted, comfortable silence and watched Dick scrape brain matter off his boot with his piece of wood.

“So,” Steph said casually. “Who’s murder boy over there?”

“Long story. Long, sordid story.”

“This I will want to hear, I’m sure.” She yawned. “God, I am shattered. The past twenty-four hours have been mayhem. But B has them on the run, the Court has slunk away to lick its wounds, just these stragglers left.”

“Thank fuck,” Jason said, with feeling.

“No, thank us. And speaking of Batman, he’s been frantic since you fell off the grid.”

“Batman, frantic. Sorry, can’t picture it.”

“Ok, well he was more growly than normal, and he told us to find you. The ‘or don’t come back’ was in the subtext. But it was definitely his emotionally stunted version of frantic.”

“Tell me you didn’t tell him where we are,” Jason said, already pushing himself to his feet.

“Of course I did! He’s super worried about you.”

“It’s going to get complicated really fast, and I’m not ready for him yet – there’s shit I need to work out.”

“Like him?” Steph pointed her thumb at Dick, who had been busy removing the Talon's armor and was now hacking what was left of its head off. 

Jason winced. “Yeah, like him.”

“Is he the reason they chased you all over the city, and sent twice as many Talons after you?”

“Yeah. And it’s going to get very difficult when Batman gets involved.”

Steph just looked at him. Jason rubbed his face tiredly. How was he going to deal with this? He was certain that despite Dick being a Talon, once Bruce had DNA tested him and assured himself it _was_ his missing Robin, he would welcome him home, get him the help he needed. Dick might not understand that process though. He was sure to be locked up for a start, and he was afraid of Batman. 

He beckoned Dick over, and his Talon stalked towards them, heedless of the gore splattered all over his face. Jason checked him over and pulled the hood of his hoodie up – just in case they got interrupted – because one shocker at a time. Dick stared at Batgirl, and Steph stared right back, curious and unafraid. “So, murder boy. What’s your story?”

Dick blinked at her, blood clumped in his eyelashes. 

Unruffled, she offered him a tired smile. ”Nice to meet you, murder boy. I’m Batgirl.” 

Dick flinched and looked at the floor. Jason remembered Barbara had been Batgirl when Dick had been Robin. They had been friends. 

“Go play with your buddies,” Jason said, waving him off and Dick returned to the fallen bodies of his would-be murders, his knife already out.

Steph shot him a slightly appalled look. 

“They’re already dead. Let him have a bit of fun.”

“ _Fun_?” 

“He needs the release, Steph. You have no idea what he’s been through.”

She studied him carefully, before nodding. He was ridiculously grateful to her for letting it go, even if she did wince at the squelching noises coming from where Dick was getting to work on the next fallen assassin.

 

Batman landed almost silently, but Dick still heard him and twisted round, drawing back with a hiss. Jason caught him by the arm. “It’s ok, we're going to have to deal with this at some point.” 

Dick wasn’t listening though, and he struggled free. “You traitor! What was the point of this if you were only going to give me up at the end of it?” 

“Red Hood,” Batman growled, but the whiteout lenses of his eyes were fixed firmly on Dick. Thankfully Dick’s features were hidden by his hoodie, but things were going to get out of control anyway. 

Batgirl was still beside him, and he made a quick, brutal decision. He dug Steph’s standard dart gun from where it was holstered on her utility belt and shot Dick low on the thigh. Dick looked at the dart protruding from his jeans and then at Jason, before his face contorted with fury. He snarled, once again an angry bundle of animalistic rage, and lunged across the space separating them. Thankfully his reactions were already slowed or he might have ripped Jason’s head off – that seemed to be what he was aiming for. But the Bat-Tranqs were fast acting and he collapsed in a heap at Jason’s feet. 

“Wow, harsh,” Batgirl commented casually. 

Jason glared at her. “Shut up,” he grunted as he gathered Dick up in his arms, trying not to show how goddamn heavy the bastard was. “B, we need to get back to the cave. We have a lot to talk about. Alfred will back me up on this one.” 

The Bat was inscrutable, eyes still on Dick. But then he turned and sailed from the building. Jason seriously hoped he was moving towards the Batmobile, because his legs were about to give out. 

Steph helped, and Jason didn’t even pretend not to be grateful.

 

They blindfolded Dick, although he was unconscious – it was the only way Jason could think of that Bruce would allow them to enter the cave without a detailed explanation. 

Alfred was waiting for them. Tim was asleep, slumped over the computer, his right leg in a cast, and a neat bandage wrapped over his head. At least Damian wasn’t there. Although there was a cat curled up on the monitor above Tim’s head. A cat in the Batcave, that was a new one. Bruce wouldn’t even let him have a gold fish. 

Jason carried Dick out of the car and laid him on one of the medical tables, carefully keeping his face concealed. He was going to try and explain before he dropped that bombshell. 

“Why is the Court after this young man?” Bruce asked, striding towards his computer. There were three red dots, milling about on the map of Gotham, and several motionless blue ones. The Talons left in the city, and the neutralized ones. Bruce very gently moved Tim aside, without waking him. It was a show of concern and tenderness that made Jason’s gut twist, but he found the feeling wasn’t as unpleasant as it usually was. If Bruce truly loved them, he would accept Dick, despite his crimes. 

“Jason?” Alfred asked, and his eyes were fixed on Dick’s still figure. Jason nodded at him and Alfred took a breath, clearly battling for control of his emotions. Jason waited for the surge of jealousy, but it didn’t come. The old butler sent him a look that was full of pride. And Jason’s heart swelled.

He turned back to Bruce. “So, B,” he began, but then stalled. What the fuck was he supposed to say? He looked at Steph, but she was busy writing offensive things on Tim’s bandages. 

Batman gave him a look. The ‘tell me now’ look. But underneath it, Jason was shocked to see the ‘I’m mad because you made me worry’ look. That had been a frequent one when he had been Robin. 

“Well?” Bruce asked

“I was attacked by a Talon, and I captured him to get info.” Bruce’s eyes narrowed – he probably didn’t approve of Jason’s methods. Jason chose to ignore it. “Turns out he was stalking me, he wanted to be free of them – he’s still alive.” Jason jerked a thumb back at Dick’s unconscious form. Alfred had him hooked up to an IV and was taking samples and fussing around him. 

“Did you not consider the idea he could be a sleeper agent?” Bruce asked, his voice a familiar, deep rumble. 

“I did. But I don’t believe he is.” God, this was hard. “Thing is Bruce, I recognized him, and I sent Alf a DNA sample to be sure. Because whatever our history, I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Turns out I was right and Alf will back me.” 

“About what? This prevaricating is not like you, Jason.”

“The DNA was a positive match for Dick Grayson.” There was a palpable silence. He was vaguely aware even Steph had stopped whatever horror she was inflicting on Tim’s sleeping form. Bruce turned stiffly and walked to the gurney that Dick was laid out on. He looked at Alfred, who was wearing an expression that was both relief and sadness. And yeah, Jason could relate to that.

Bruce looked into his foster son's face and his hands clenched. Then he touched Dick’s cheek with his gloved fingers. 

“How can we be sure–” Bruce started.

But Alfred broke in. “I did the tests myself, sir. It is Master Dick.”

“But–” 

“Do you mistrust me, sir? I trust Master Jason completely in this matter. He has done his best to protect you both, I think.” 

Jason felt overwhelmed and achingly tired. “It’s him, Bruce. He can’t remember much, and they’ve conditioned him to feel pain at mentions of his past. They’ve had him a long time.”

Bruce looked like he was shrinking into himself. His failure to find Dick before this happened must be crushing. But instead of the condemnation he expected to feel, Jason felt protective – of both of them.

“We didn’t even know they were there, B. Let it go. Help him now.”

“Tell me everything,” Batman said.

And Jason told him. 

Mostly everything, anyway.

 

………..

When Jason woke he hurt. There was no part of his body that wasn’t singing in pain. But there was a warm body next to him. He looked at his bedmate. Dick was snoring quietly, and drooling onto his pillow. His beat-up face was the best thing Jason had ever seen. They were actually ok. They had survived the Court, and they had survived the first round with the Bat. 

Then he felt hard, calloused fingers on his throat.

“You betrayed me!” Dick snarled at him.

“Nope, really didn’t,” Jason grunted, despite his constricted airway. “Why’d you think you’re asleep in bed and not dead or in a cage?”

Dick looked around and the grip on Jason’s windpipe lessened. 

“You missed a lot while unconscious,” Jason told him, running his fingers through the assassin’s hair. ”You missed the second round of DNA testing, and the arguing, and when I almost got a thank you from the Batman. You missed the part where I argued you should be up here with me when you woke, so I could explain things to you.”

“Why would the Bat care who I am?”

And fuck it. The Court probably already knew. “Remember the picture I showed you, of you and your foster dad?” 

Dick nodded. His hair was a tangled mess against the pillow.

“He’s Batman, and you were Robin. The first Robin. I was the second.”

Dick gaped at him. “Batman’s my father?”

“Not by blood, but yeah.” Then he sucked it up and said the things that had once hurt him. “He never stopped looking for you. He would drop everything if he came across a lead.” It didn’t even sting. For the first time, Jason felt he sort of understood. And the disbelieving wonder in Dick’s face was worth every hurt of the last few days. 

And that was terrifying. 

But he _wasn’t_ afraid to fall, so he dragged Dick in close for a kiss and thrilled as he felt the Talon's lips curve against his own. 

They were going to be ok.

 

Later at breakfast – one of the weirdest Jason had ever experienced ¬– Damian and Dick stared at each other with intense curiosity, over cereal and waffles. Dick was studiously ignoring Bruce, but he kept flicking surreptitious glances at him. Jason ate his scrambled eggs and watched Bruce in turn. 

Meanwhile Bruce was staring at Dick, his face a strange mix of grief and joy. Jason waited for the jealousy, but for the first time he wondered if Bruce had looked at _him_ like that, when he had come back. And if Jason had just been too angry to see it. 

Tim seemed oblivious to the fact that the bandage on his head read ‘boy-band reject’ and Steph was keeping one hell of a straight face as they chatted, apparently unfazed by the Talon at the breakfast table. Jason really liked that girl – even without yesterday's heroic rescue. 

Over all it was weird and domestic. There was a hell of a way to go, but Jason thought they might actually make it. Bruce wanted to spend several days a week trying to work through Dick’s mental blocks, but Dick had made it clear he wanted Jason to be there at all times, and that he wished to stay with him, rather than at the manor. 

Bruce had also taken Jason aside. Thanked him, in his stiff way. He had looked emotionally shattered. The fight with the Court cumulating in this reunion, and blighted by everything Dick had suffered, had taken its toll. Jason had tried not to make it worse by being an asshole. Bruce had also warned him to be careful; Dick had been a wonderful person, kind, smart and compassionate. Talon-Dick was an unknown quantity. He was potentially mentally and emotionally unstable and a trained killer. Bruce had cautioned Jason to be vigilant, at least until they knew where they stood. 

He looked across the room at his Talon, and Dick grinned at him. He had drowned a waffle in syrup and was busy licking his sticky fingers. Jason was suddenly hungry again, and made for the toast pilled up near the head of the table. He brushed his fingers casually over Dick’s shoulders as he passed, and Dick’s whole body leaned into the light touch. 

Jason was trying to take Bruce’s warning into account – heaven knew the man was right, but he had a suspicion he was going to plunge into this new relationship face first, and damn the consequences.

It was more fun that way, anyhow. 

 

End…

…For now. This was written for an exchange and I ran out of time before I could explore all I wanted to in the verse – so there are more stories in the works. :p

And thank you for all your lovely reviews! [The next chapter of buabs should be up soon as well ☺]


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